


On the Mend

by Undercover_Royalty



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Gen, because it'd honestly break my heart, but fluff towards the end, hopefully the studio decides to skip it, the death fic that nobody asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 08:36:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9596801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Undercover_Royalty/pseuds/Undercover_Royalty
Summary: A brief glimpse back on how Peter and May Parker came to terms with the unimaginable.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!   
> So, I haven't posted anything on here in an age, and I thought this might be a good time to start.   
> As mentioned in the tags, I'm really hoping we skip the whole Uncle Ben scene, not only because it's repetitive, but because it'd probably end with me at least tearing up.   
> So, in preparation, I wrote my own little take on it. Because of course I did.   
> I hope you enjoy it, and feel free to comment! Thanks for reading!   
> ~UR

It was a little-known (if not highly- suspected) fact that Peter Parker was not entirely adverse to cuddling. He'd never tell you that now, of course, and in fact, would noticeably cringe at even the word 'cuddling' but it was indisputable, all the same. 

Ever since he was little, Peter had zero qualms with finding a couch and a blanket and seeking attention from whatever loved one was nearest. His father had always called him a shameless charmer, especially when his loved one of choice was his Aunt May. 

But, by the time his fourth birthday came around, Aunt May and Uncle Ben were all he had. For about six months, he was all but inseparable from them, and the three spent hours on the living room couch. The centered picture on the mantle was a testament to the familiar scene: was Ben on the left end, May on the right, and Peter sandwiched in the middle. 

But then, quite suddenly, it stopped. Peter stopped trudging into the living room, dragging the quilt off his bed anymore. He preferred to sit by himself on the floor, and almost never cried. Thus, at barely four years old, he'd "grown up." 

Ben, who'd never been good with tears, seemingly didn't mind in the least, and he and Peter quickly bonded over a mutual love of odd jobs around the house. While May might have been concerned the first month or two after the abrupt change, whenever she heard Peter laughing (probably over her husband making a silly face), she worried a little less. 

And then, twelve years passed and Ben was gone. 

Peter stayed composed longer than May did. One would never suspect that it had been him holding onto his uncle's body like a lifeline when the police arrived. But whenever his aunt passed him in the next week, she always noticed a haunted look in his eyes, the look of someone who knew a grave truth. May, lost in a tidal wave of her own grief, never questioned him. 

A day after the funeral, Peter returned to school. Though school officials expressed their concerns, Peter was unbearably stubborn, and exercised that trait in persuasive emails that eventually eased their concerns. After about three days (May couldn't keep track of them for months, after) she got a call from a hesitant school secretary, who informed her that her nephew needed to be picked up. She paused in her search through the Classifieds and grabbed her purse. 

That same secretary, dancing around her like a mouse around a cat, informed her that during second period, Peter had asked to be excused to get some water. His science teacher had found him halfway down the hall, ten minutes later, punching a locker as hard as he could, with his knuckles torn and bleeding. 

"How much?" May asked, tiredly. 

"Don't worry about that, Ms. Parker." the secretary reassured, voice sticky-sweet, "The school budget can cover it." 

May expressed her thanks and then got out of there before she drowned in syrupy sympathy. She knew what Ben would've said- "I insist we pay for it." before going down and scolding Peter for damaging public property- but she wasn't Ben. 

She found Peter on a bench down the hall. His best friend, Ned Leeds, had an arm around his shoulders, and the two spoke quietly with their heads down. 

"Peter?" she offered, softly. 

Both boys looked up, as Ned's arm slid away. Peter's face was a mask, and he stared between her and the floor, already resigned to his fate. 

"I've got you checked out," May continued, "I think it might be a little early to be back here." 

Still, Peter was silent. She spoke for both of them. 

"Ned, would you mind bringing Peter's books by a little later?" 

"Not at all, Ms. Parker." Ned replied, "See you later, Pete." 

As expected, Peter didn't bother to reply but, evidently, Ned was already used to this odd behavior, and walked off without comment. May thought she'd have to take Peter's hand and lead him but, after Ned left, he stood up and followed her out the door. On the way home, he kept his earbuds in, and his head down, bandaged hands shoved in his pockets. 

Once the door clicked shut, May decided to make her move. 

"Peter?" 

He glanced up at her, and she motioned to the earbuds. He clicked them off, and tore them out, choosing to stare at a vase of flowers on the entry-table. 

"I'm not going to yell at you." May prefaced, "Honestly, if that were me, I'd've done the same thing. I still want to punch things, sometimes." 

Peter seemed to visibly slacken; she'd already lost him, talking about herself. Not one for giving up, May continued on, cutting to the quick. 

"I know that there's something you don't want to tell me, Peter, something, I think, about what happened that night. But I need you to understand, I will love you just the same, no matter what happened. You don't ever have to tell me, if you don't want to. Just know that I, and your uncle, have always loved you and we always will." 

Peter was silent, but there was something in his eyes, not a look of resignation, or fear or even anger. It was the look of a little boy dragging his quilt into the living room. 

Very, very hesitantly, May held her arms out, and Peter shattered. 

He broke down before he even reached her, as a sudden wave of tears welled in his eyes, and May realized that he'd been repressing them ever since that night, trying to look strong. Ignoring her own surge of grief, she gathered her strong, brilliant nephew into her arms and ran a hand through his hair, letting him cry. 

Peter grieved until he went hoarse, so much so, that he entirely lost his voice the next morning. And if May heard him sobbing into her shoulder about how it was 'all his fault' and how he 'should've done more' she didn't say a word about it. 

And though things weren't perfect after that day, Peter and May Parker could both finally start to heal. Peter had undergone another change, and was no longer as aloof as he'd once been. Now he was happy to hug May on the way out the door, was willing to tell her if he'd had a bad day, and even offered the occasional 'love you'. And for that, she was grateful.

To anyone entering the Parkers' apartment, it seemed like nothing had changed. However, for those detail-oriented enough to notice, there was now an old quilt taking up a place on the left edge of the couch.


End file.
